Red
by periberi
Summary: He always tied the same red ribbon. Shinji/Takako, AU


**Title**: Red

**Summary**: He always tied the same red ribbon. Shinji/Takako, AU

**Genre**: Romance

**Rating**: T (should be)

**8:17 am.**

"It suits you."

Her reaction was automatic—eyes turning into slits, and that infamous grimace plastered on her pretty face. He could _almost_ forget that she dragged him out of bed. _Almost._ He would worry about the back pains later just because she was such a _sight_ to behold at eight in the morning.

"Cut the crap. You're staring at me."

The coffee burned his tongue, but his gaze never wavered. He smiled, half-droopy from sleep, equal quarters of happiness and happy shock. "I am staring at you."

And it unnerved her, really. She was used to the thoughtful smiles, to the proud ones, to the comforting sighs from his lips. The only time she saw _this_ smile was when she was nineteen, wet from the rain and out of air—the makings of her _first_ kiss.

"Don't."

"I'm going to say it, anyway—"

"Hiroki!"

"Congratulations."

Six years later, it still didn't change—and he caught the trickery before she did it. He could _already_ forgive her before she even dared. _Already._

Still, that coffee would make a damn good mess on his favourite Darth Vader pyjamas.

**7:45 am.**

Takako had been in this room a thousand times before—when his cat died, when he flunked his Chemistry exam, when he broke his right leg. She had it memorized down to the colourful shoelaces he tied around his bedpost. But she knew something was _different_.

Maybe it was the way his photos had been neatly stacked by his study. Maybe it was the way she was _trembling_. Maybe it was how the windows were now open even as he slept, maybe how she felt like crying, _he usually hated the morning light—_

"Hiroki."

She shielded her eyes as she felt her dam nearly _break_.

But there he was; he was done rubbing his eyes, he probably didn't rub his eyes; she was openly crying that sounded like _squeaking_; he was squinting through the light, bright _shiny_ light, but there he was.

He was already staring at her wide-eyed, as if her tears were the douse of cold, _salty_, water that gripped him awake.

**6:05 am.**

"Oh my fucking heavens Takako Chigusa, you better answer your phone right now if you want your body to be identified in the next 24 hours, I'm not going to be responsible for texting your parents that you were HIGH OF ALL THE FUCKING PEOPLE WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU PAST MIDNIGHT you better explain this or you can make yourself scarce. OR NOT BECAUSE YOu're scarce JUST TEXT OR CALL you're scaring me—"

To be honest, she laughed way more than she should have. He had woken up a little, the sunshine on _her_ sunshine—fuck, time to make that call.

**6:01 am.**

_"__Hey Taka, what do you say about that white picket fence?"_

_She only rolled her eyes at him. He had asked her way too many times already to make this one count._

**4:28 am.**

"Why are you _not_ sleeping?"

"Why are you sleeping?"

"Maybe this is all, but one good dream."

"Hmm."

"And it's gonna get _dirty_ any minute now—"

She whacked him with a pillow to his face. Maybe she should have thought about this more.

He kissed her hair.

_Or maybe not._

**2:06 am.**

Interesting was the word she would pick to describe the first time. It was a matter of here and there, of a point to another, almost methodical. She had never felt so clueless; she who claimed herself to be logical, she who excelled at almost everything.

Raging was the word she would pick to describe the second time. She was running a marathon, sweat dripping down her back, breathing heavily regulated. And what Takako Chigusa did best next to running races, was winning them. The sound of the dust against her soles, the way she grazed her nails in his skin—it was becoming _similar_, familiar. He said what she lacked in experience, she made up in her enthusiasm. He didn't say anything more.

Calm was the word she would pick to describe _this_ time. She was giving, he was taking. Passionate was the word she would pick to describe _this_ time. He was giving, she was taking. Gentle was the word she would pick to describe _this_ time. He moved in her rhythm, and she in his. He held her in his hands like the clouds and the stars when she was falling down to earth and breaking apart.

_Nothing_ could ever describe this time.

**2:03 am.**

"When did you realize you love me?"

"We sneaked out one dinner and puffed our first smoke together under my parents' noses."

"Hah. Under your parents' noses. Didn't they ever…_smell_ them?"

She chuckled, shaking his head. "You're so bad at this."

"Hmm." He nuzzled her neck, kissed her lightly by her beating pulse. "But just that."

_Yes, just that._

**12:43 am.**

She still couldn't believe it. If not for Shuuya's haunting (she would leave it at that, open for interpretation) voice, she would think it was _unreal_. His dancing eyes, his sneaky grin—like the one he used when he forgot to call, or for the wet towels on the bed—she couldn't believe it.

Takako was light-headed, and giddy, and jumpy and she needed to calm down—

"Hey guess what? I'm e—"

But he picked her up like she was made of air, but maybe she was because she was _floating_, and he laid her gently by the bed, the same bed they made this morning; the bed where he left the wet towels _again._

What the fuck_, I'm e?_ Kahoru thought it didn't make sense, but it was past midnight and the message sounded _high_.

She was worried beyond belief when she called her six and a half times with no answer.

**10:27 pm.**

"Hey Taka, what do you say about that white picket fence?"

She smacked him. It felt like it was the most natural thing to do.

"Do you always have that ribbon around?"

"I always have what it unwraps. The right time could be _anytime._"

**10:15 pm.**

_"__Forever can never be long enough for me, to feel like I've had long enough with you..."_

"Oh my God. Stop it, Nanahara. I said STOP IT!"

**10:10 pm.**

So Takako Chigusa let him. He had pulled this off way too many times to count. So this was a way fancier setting, so this was more like unplanned. Maybe he picked Nanahara up on his way down here, so maybe this was planned. So what if she was overthinking. He had pulled this off way too many times to count, anyway.

But her heart was still beating fast the same way _every time_, _this time._

So Shinji Mimura looked at her. She had known this way too many times to count. So she was schooling her face like she wasn't hoping the _world_ from him, so she was most likely thinking this was not it. But _this_ was it. Far from it to be common knowledge, she hated surprises.

So he pulled this off way too many times to count, so _maybe_ this was planned.

"Again?" She _even_ offered her left hand. He tied the same, _same_, same red ribbon on her ring finger like he _always_ did.

"The last time."

Then he pulled out the box.

**10:09 pm.**

"Hey Taka, what do you say about that white picket fence?"

**END.**

**A/N: **So nobody's going to read this story because this fandom, like all of its pretty awesome folks, are dead. But here's to the wind: 1) A few people I can think of can spot this style from a mile away because this isn't the first time I wrote something like this. This style always haunts me. And I thought, hey, Takako and Shinji are my OTP of OTPs so why not give them my favorite writing style. And then this fabricated itself with the help of the rainy weather and the sounds of the empty stomach. And 2) I've been such in a BR mood lately thanks to Crystal Spinning, who you one or two people reading this, should check out and read. She wrote this really awesome piece about our favorite ship entitled The Before and Afters and if you're really reading this, then why not read THAT. But if you're kind enough I appeal to your heart and drop me a review first.

I apologize for my rusty writing. It had been a while. Cheers.


End file.
